


Hold Fast

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 07:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: You thought you’d take your feelings for Dean Winchester to the grave. Well…‘almost’ counts; right?





	Hold Fast

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for hurt!reader.

 

“Oh. Wow.” You grip your side but your hands slip, there’s so much blood. Your eyes are shut as you brace against the pain. “That hurt.”

“Shit. Shit!” Dean is in front of you in an instant, holding your face. His hands are cold and clammy and everything is muted but oh, that’s nice. The way he says your name is both wonderful and awful- it is desperate, like he wants you, but so sad, because you both know what this is.

He lies you down and you grumble at him to be careful because this is a horse trail and you’ve been dealing with the smell on and off all night.

“Shut up,” Dean says with such a weak attempt at levity that you both ignore it. Dean takes off his jacket and bunches it under your head. “Just- breathe. You’re going to be fine, all right?”

He practically barks the last two words at you, but, well, that’s Dean and it makes you smile. The smile goes fast though when you inhale and feel such a sharp pain under your hands that you choke. Dean puts his hands where yours just were and he presses so hard it _hurts_.

"I know, I know, baby; I'm _sorry_ ," he says, his voice thick with emotion.

"Did I grow four wheels and an engine?" you ask, trying to process why he would call you that. You give up on the effort pretty quickly. It's nice. It's nice and you want to appreciate it for what it could never mean.

"Shut up," Dean huffs like he wishes he could laugh. "It slipped out."

"It's okay. I like it." You reach up and around for his face, but when you touch it you feel blood smear on his skin and you take your hand back. "It sounds like you–"

You bite your lip, coming back to reality a bit, where everything hurts and Dean is muttering under his breath, "Cas where _are_ you, you son of a–"

"Be nice," you murmur.

He grumbles something about being nice, or maybe about where nice can go shove it. Both are probable, even if one sounds more like Dean than the other. "Hey, hey; stay with me," he says. "Cas is– is coming; he'll come. You're going to be all right. I've got you."

"Hm." You need an anchor– your mind is a mix of pain and haze and cold and dark. You pat around until you find Dean's arm, and since his hands are occupied you squeeze his wrist.

"What's that for?" He says.

"Holding on." You don't know if the smile comes across. As much as it's just easier to keep your eyes shut right now, you're also afraid to look. Dean is so quiet.

"It sounds like I what?" he asks.

"Hm?" What'd you miss?

He swallows. You can hear him clearly. "When I called you b–…you said it was okay; that it sounded like I…something."

It's hard to follow. "Don't 'member…exactly…"

He says your name but you struggle to stay awake. For this, you need to. "But I don't mind. Being called it. I wouldn't mind being something you love."

Dean's voice fades then and that's okay. You said what you always needed to and, selfishly, you don't want to know what he thinks of it.

A breeze blows past you and you get one last, painless breath before you succumb.

 

Your head hurts. Which is kind of bullshit, in your opinion. It makes more sense, though, when you open your eyes and see Dean sitting next to your bed, his head resting on his arms. Even from a weird angle you can see the slight scruff on his face, and when he lifts his head and looks at you with tired eyes you know you aren't dead. No heaven of yours would ever involve Dean Winchester looking so miserable.

There's pressure on your wrist and you look to see his hand wrapped around it. You smile– you vaguely remember. "So," you say, hoarse. You clear your throat. "Not dead."

Dream shakes his head. "Cas got there in time." Dean looks at you, eyes focusing, and you look away. "Do you remember? What you said?"

You hesitate. But… "Yeah," you say quietly. "And I meant it."

Dean's hunter-sharp gaze softens. Awkwardly, he scoots the chair up until he's next to your head. You turn on your side, interested in but also terrified of what's to come.

But Dean gets that smile- the one that crosses his face like morning sunlight crawls across the floor. The one that brings light and something younger to his eyes even as his lips try to make a smirk, because a full smile is just a little more vulnerable than Dean is comfortable with yet.

But that's okay. You've got time now, you think, as Dean brings his mouth to yours and you get to taste that smile after so much wondering. You've got time, and you know just what you want to do with it now.


End file.
